Keeping a Promise
by learningtowrite1996
Summary: AU - sorta. Peter's been up to something dark in NYC with a huge Alpha pack, and now the entire country seems to be infected. Derek and Scott want everyone back in Beacon Hills to re-group, but all Stiles can think of as he steps over his dead roommate is how his father thought he heard his only son dying over the phone.


**This is an AU story about the pack after they graduate high school. There's no Malia – sorry. Basically there's no season 4 in this story. No really established relationships at the moment either, there will be as the story goes on. Please read and review!**

Keeping a Promise

Leaving his dad was the most difficult part. Stiles hadn't really realized how co-dependent they had become with each other since his mother died. No more bringing him dinner at work, no more riding around in the police cruiser, no more waiting up to say good night. It wasn't like they were saying goodbye forever – it was only college. But it would never be the same, and the distance was going to be more than ever before.

The pack was separating, but somehow still managing to stay connected. Lydia had gotten a full ride to Stanford – no surprise there. Allison and Kira were attending Foothill only five miles from Stanford, California. The three close friends were too nervous to be far apart and had secured an apartment together. Issac, Boyd, Erica and Cora had all decided on UNLV in Las Vegas, Nevada. They'd wanted a change in scenery, Issac had said.

Stiles had been the surprise. Everyone thought he would stick near Beacon Hills – or at least in California. No one thought he could leave his dad, Scott, or Lydia who he had been becoming slowly more romantic with. But when the acceptance to the University of Chicago came in the Stilinski's mail, Stiles knew it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. He could keep up with his pack members in the west, he told himself. There was Skype, and phones, and the internet. He was their future emissary after all – as Deaton had recently informed them. But his dad had stressed. And stressed and stressed. He didn't want Stiles going so far all by himself. At first, Stiles thought it was just his dad being a dad. That is until he – honestly honest to god – _accidentally _– heard his father talking to Scott in the kitchen one day.

"—more than that, Scott. You and I both know there's – there's – _something_ – "

"With Stiles? Yeah, I know. I thought it was just all the emissary stuff, but the other day Deaton was telling me there's more. Staring talking about that whole spark thing again – "

"They'll be after him Scott. If he's got some spark, or whatever, all kinds of creatures will be after him. He can't even shoot a _gun_ –"

_You never let me,_ Stiles thought angrily. With the ADD, anxiety, obsessive compulsive tendencies, panic attacks, night terrors, and mild depression on occasion – Stiles knew the Sheriff sometimes treated him like glass. But hearing his own father out loud tell his best friend that he couldn't take care of himself was a punch to the gut.

"And he gets really into his schoolwork sometimes – you know how obsessive he can get. He forgets to eat, and he could get so stressed that it could trigger a panic attack – I don't know. What if he couldn't breathe and no one knew how to take care of it –"

"There's community colleges in Chicago." Scott kept his voice low.

The Sheriff let out a huge breath. "Scott – "

"I could start applying. Probably couldn't afford an apartment right by University of Chicago, but I could find something close enough to Stiles' dorm –"

"God, Scott _thank you_ –"

"Shouldn't be too hard, Sheriff," Scott's voice changed a little and Stiles knew he had flashed that reassuring smile. "Would be nice to get out of Beacon Hills for a little bit anyways."

"You'll look after him? Take care of him for me?"

"Of course. I promise."

ooo

Stiles' jeep was bursting with his and Scott's stuff when they had left. The goodbyes had been hard. Scott's mom cried. Lydia cried a couple silent tears when Stiles kissed her forehead. Allison looked forlorn. Cora and Erica kept biting their lips, and Issac's eyes stayed on the ground. The Sheriff's face was screwed up in sadness, and Stiles knew once his father was alone he would let it all go.

Derek's face was taut and white when he said goodbye. There was a strong nervousness about him. The same nervous feeling had been rising up in Stiles for weeks now. Something felt off.

"Do you feel it too?" he had asked Derek as they carried stuff out to the jeep.

Derek raised his eyebrows. "Feel what?"

"Like something's wrong. Like – there's a pit in your stomach. I mean, I know it's just college. Everyone does it. But, I dunno – I can't shake it."

He threw another duffel bad into the car and then looked up at Derek, who was firmly keeping his eyes locked forward.

"Yeah, Stiles – I think I feel it too."

ooo

Moving all his stuff into his tiny on-campus housing was kind of fun. There were five other guys in the apartment who seemed chill enough. Scott, (who he secretly really appreciated having in the city) had a place just ten minutes away. The absence of his dad was like a stab to the gut sometimes, but they talked every day and, well, he had to move out sometime. He and Lydia would talk on the phone for hours – her mostly talking about the research she was working on, or her extremely complicated sounding labs. There was a cleverness she spoke with that was brighter than Stiles had ever heard. He loved thinking of how successful she would become.

He focused on classes a lot. He slept at Scott's often and they Skyped the pack once a week to get business done. He did his best to remember his medication. He even went to a couple parties. Still the strange fear persisted, and was finally confirmed just two months into his first semester.

Scott had delivered the news through a phone call. His voice sounded frantic – urgent.

"Stiles, something's up."

"What d'you mean?" Stiles had asked, plugging his other ear to block out his roommate's loud and annoying dubstep.

"Something weird's going on. Something really bad. I just got off the phone with Derek. He said Peter's been up to something."

"I thought they didn't even speak anymore. Isn't Peter in New York city?"

"Yeah – yeah he is. But listen, Peter called Derek yesterday. Was trying to recruit him."

Stiles shut the door to his bedroom and slid down the door to keep the other guys out. "_Recruit_ him? For what?"

"Something – I don't know, neither does Derek. But Peter was saying how he joined up with this huge Alpha pack in New York City. They've been working on something to become more powerful as a pack. They're trying to find the best people to turn into werewolves."

"How do they find them?" Stiles whispered. "How many people?"

"Peter didn't say, just told Derek that there was a spot for him in the pack if he wanted one."

"And Derek said…"

Scott huffed. "No, of course."

"Well you never know – he can be pretty sour –"

"Stiles this is _serious_,"

"I know, Scott, good lord you know how I deal with crazy stuff,"

"No I mean it's really serious. Go turn on the news."

Stiles stood up. "Which station?"

"Any of them. It's huge – it's national,"

Stiles' heart sunk, and his breathing started to quicken a little. He stepped into the living room, taking the television remote right out of his roommate Jason's hands.

Jason lunged for it. "Hey, dude!"

"Chill for a sec, man," Stiles muttered, flipping through channels. Once it landed on NBC, the music was turned off, and all six boys went dead silent. "God, Scott –" Stiles breathed.

It was New York City – covered in red. People all throughout the streets, laying facedown, on their hands and knees, or curled on their sides. All vomiting steady streams of blood. Words floated from news anchors like _extremely contagious, contracted from sneezes, coughs, any form of touching, or touching something the infected touched, unknown where it started, NYC completely closed off, thousands dead, spreading, spreading everywhere – _

"Scott – I think they created a disease."

ooo

Scott was on his way with Stiles' jeep that he'd borrowed. They were going home, to Beacon Hills. Everyone was. They needed to re-group, figure out the situation. As Stiles flicked through the news, and hurriedly packed his things, more cases in the country kept coming up. There was one in a small town in Maryland – the whole place, closed off. One in a Maine neighborhood – completely closed off. In Michigan, Rhode Island, both Carolinas – every area there was a case was completely closed off. No one in, and no one out. There were people in huge rubber suits all over the TV with helmets and plastic coverings.

The boys jumped out of their fixation on the screen when a shrill scream sounded outside their door. Stiles leapt up, his roommates on his heels, and pulled the front door open.

A boy lay convulsing on the lawn, blood pouring out of his mouth with a girl kneeling at his side and pulling on his arm. Every time he convulsed, she screamed. What was the boy's name? Henry? Harrison? Something H. Stiles vaguely remembered him talking about how he had recently been in Manhattan for a couple days.

A hot prickling feeling started up Stiles' neck as sirens started blaring in the distance, a helicopter's wings came closer, and numerous students started screaming.

**Please let me know that you think, and if I should continue. Thanks!**


End file.
